


A Serious Miscalculation

by aqueentorattlestars



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Mating Bond, Smut, comical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:39:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqueentorattlestars/pseuds/aqueentorattlestars
Summary: Nesta and Cassian have accepted the mating bond. Nesta is working with another male and Cassian becomes very jealous. They argue and have make-up sex... With an unexpected twist.





	A Serious Miscalculation

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever writing smut. And this was also a fanfic request off of tumblr. I tried my best! This is definitely something very awkward for me to do, hahahaha.

Since the war, Nesta had taken to lending her services in the infirmary. She had found her niche amongst the healers—though she had no _magical_ talents, she still managed to feel useful amongst the masters of the craft.

They had taken her on willingly—grateful for an eager student that did not blanche at the sight of blood.   
  
Healing had given her a _purpose_ to be there. In the infirmary, she became something more than the High Lady’s sister or the Commander’s Mate… She blossomed into a creature all her own.

Tirelessly, Nesta worked in and amongst the healers. A chameleon, she morphed into whatever assistance they needed—tending to the knees of scraped children, a surgeon’s assistant, to bedmaker. There was no job too small for her in the infirmary.   
  
The day had begun before the light of dawn had broke across the skies still blanketed with night. And it had been nonstop since then.   
  
She had just finished up cleaning a particularly nasty wound when a quiet lull as if the Court had taken a collective sigh of relief and went on with life without incident. Nesta allowed herself the luxury of a smile at having a moment of quiet to herself. Careful not to touch anything, the fae moved to wash her hands.

Her hands were put into the water basin. In idle wonder she watched as the warm liquid lifting the macabre paint from her fingers, leaving only the slightest traces of the blood ink from where it had dried. Vigorously she scrubbed with soap and created a lather to sterilize herself. The vespers of the blood were washed away; but the female did not relent with massaging the soap deep into her skin. To the naked eye, there was no sign of crimson. But to Nesta, the unseen blood still lingered. Blood that did not belong to any of the occupants in the infirmary… It was blood that belonged to the male she had beheaded. It did not matter how hard she scrubbed her hands with the sand—his blood would always stain them.  
  
The healer knew it to only be a figment of her imagination. To this day, she did not regret it—hells, she was glad that the king was dead. Yet… Visions still plagued her. Horrible, twisted things that robbed her of peaceful sleep.   
  
Constantly, she told herself that it was only a nightmare that haunted her. And yet the king’s reign of terror continued to be lethal long after his death. Awake or in slumber, it would wrap its icy fingers around her heart and squeeze mercilessly. In her dreams, Nesta would find herself standing in a pool of blood that was ankle deep… And her entire being was covered in the same liquid. Her hair was no longer gilded brown spills; but stained a demented red from what looked as if buckets of blood had just been poured over her. Her mouth would open to scream; but no noise would come out.   
  
The imagery of her nightmares had been so vivid, that the mere recollection of them caused Nesta to scrub that more fiercely at her hands.   
  
A final, dissatisfied rinse was given before taking up a cloth to dry them. Someone cleared their throat at the door of the room and Nesta whirled; a scowl ready on her face for the soul that dared creep up on her. She was half-expecting Cassian and—though she would never admit it—felt a twinge of disappointment when an Illyrian other than her mate filled the doorway.   
  
“I was told to come by and have these stitches taken out?” the male offered lamely, unable to tear his eyes from Nesta.   
  
His ogling was greeted with obvious annoyance as she snapped, “You’re late. Sit down.”  
  
She supposed he could have been considered handsome. Honeyed-brown eyes were a pleasant contrast to the rich mahogany of his skin. He kept himself clean-cut, but if he had allowed his hair to grow out, there were the tell-tale signs of tight curls. Yes. Some female, somewhere would have thought him attractive. But to Nesta he was nothing more than a patient requiring her services.  
  
The male, it seemed, had the common sense to obey.  He sat down in the chair she gestured to and watched with the quiet intensity of a warrior. His gaze did not falter as he tried his best to meet her gaze.  
  
It was easily avoided.   
  
Instead, she focused on the work she had at hand: tend to the patient. Nesta studied the pink scar of new skin growth signifying it was time to remove the stitches. Finally she spoke, “Well, it seems you can hold yourself together, now.” 

He tossed her a smile as he asked, “They’re coming out?”   
  
Head was dipped curtly and answered flatly, “Yes; Isn’t that what I just said? … It’ll feel like someone is tickling you.”

   
He had thought to say something coy and suggestive, but at the female’s defiant façade, he thought it better not to. Instead, his mouth remained shut as the stitch removal began and ended just as quickly.  
  
“You shouldn’t be so serious, girl,”the Illyrian mused, noting her uptight posture and behavior,“It hardly suits you. What’s your name, anyway?”  **  
  
** “Perhaps I should have downed a bottle of wine to loosen me up before attending to you. That would make for fine work, wouldn’t it?”Her tone was full of promise to do as such if there was ever another occasion again. Waving him off, Nesta ordered, “Go on. I don’t need you in here taking up space.”  
  
“But your name, lady. I’d like to know the name of the one who treated me,”he persisted, “If it’ll help at all—I’ll give you my name first. It’s Kareem.”

Irritation gave a feathered pulse down the bond—a mistaken signal let slip down a still new, strange bond. A sporadic flash of images slipped into Cassian’s mind: a grinning, shirtless male standing before her; her hands on him, finger tips brushing against bare flesh.   
  
It was enough to set the Commander off; territorial and near rabid with rage towards the male who _dared_ smile at his mate… He abandoned the meeting he and the rest of the Inner Circle had been holding.   
  
Unbeknownst to Nesta, the female had begun to unravel a cruel game of her own with the cocky Illyrian. A cold, calculative smile appeared on Nesta’s face. A warning for what was to come next.  
  
 “Nesta Archeron. Now, I have plans to meet with my _mate_ after you leave,” she answered simply, raising a finely arched brow to inquire,  **“** Is there anything else?”  
  
Kareem’s face blanched and he shook his head before heading out of the Infirmary, “N-no. Thank you. Have a nice day.”  
  
A self-satisfied smirk found its mark while Nesta watched the male retreat in haste. Proud of herself, the wildcat could not stop the smirk from evolving into a full-fledged grin. Nesta turned around and, humming an Illyrian tune she had heard Cassian sing a hundred times, began to tidy the room. Absorbed in the sterilization process, she had proceeded to ignore everything around her—until she felt the tug on the bond: _Where. Are. You._  A sharp yanking; almost as if he had the _audacity_ to summon her.  
  
A wildfire unable to be contained, Nesta pointedly ignored his tug.   
  
_Nesta. Where the hells are you? Mother’s tits, answer me. Please!_

A gnat in her ear, he continued to be an annoyance that buzzed. And would continued to do so until he was supplied the answer he was looking for. Angrily, she snapped down the bond: _Infirmary._  
  
Without waiting for his reaction, Nesta closed the bridge of communication. Silent rage was building as she started on ripping apart some bandages—stocking up for future use. As she worked, Nesta toyed with the idea of simply leaving. To teach Cassian a lesson about using that bond as a leash. Oh. There would be words shared between them—about what she would not tolerate regarding their relationship.    
  
She knew he was therebefore she saw him.  
  
And it was not because of any shouting.  
  
Cassian had always been loud—Nesta had learned that early on in the beginnings of their friendship. He was naturally boisterous. His voice carried out amongst rooms—a talent he had cultivated from centuries of shouting across warring tribes and commanding his troops without falter. He shouted when he was happy, he shouted when he was excited, he shouted when he was angry; it was as simple as that. Cassian was loud.  
  
It was when Cassian was quiet that one had reason to be concerned.   
Her mate had not uttered a sound as he busted through the door of the room she was in—he had followed her sent.

 Nesta _felt_ the white-hot rage as it emanated from him.  
Her chin was raised higher as she stared him down. Stubborn pride prevented her from being the first one to speak. All she saw in those eyes was lethal anger that was ready to eliminate whatever threat he had determined existed.

A greeting was not bothered with as the warrior demanded, “Where is he?” His growl was as wicked and wild as a roll of thunder; the sound of a thousand battle drums hammering out their bloody beat.

“Where is _who?”_ she snapped back, exasperated with his theatrics.

“I smell him on you. I _saw_ him smiling at you. Where. Is. He.”  
  
“I don’t know what the hells you’re talking about!” she retorted, agitation growing larger and larger with each passing moment.   
  
“The Illyrian. Where is he. I smell him all over you. You showed him to me—I’m going to fucking rip his wings off. Y-you touched him. He was shirtless. You’re _my mate—_ "  
  
Dawning realization streaked across Nesta’s face—realization about what he was upset about. The realization morphed into pure, unadulterated fury at what he had been implying about her.   
  
She wanted to hear him say it. Wanted to hear him accuse her of being with another male. Wanted to hear those damning words come out of his mouth.   
  
“What are you saying, Cassian?” she asked, her voice a soft caress. A caress that was tipped with claws.

Wings twitched as he tried to contain his temper. Hazel eyes locked onto her frosty pair. Cassian clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to work out how to accurately relay what was thrumming in his mind, “He looked at you like he wanted you. He wanted to fuck you—” His words were coming out quickly, a jumbled revealing of the horror and anger that had consumed him since she had slipped those glimpses of Kareem, “What if he had acted? There isn’t anyone down here except you. He could have. He could have _raped_ you. I wasn’t here. I should have been here. _Fuck, Nesta!_. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip his wings off and nail them to the walls of the city—”   
  
“Cassian, stop—”   
  
He did not give her the opportunity to cut him off as he delved deeper into that trench of fear. A fear that he could not protect her. He had failed her before. He would fail her again. His voice cracked as Cassian continued, “I swear he won’t ever come near you again. I’ll make the whole world see what happens when someone dares to touch you.”   
  
Soft lips were pursed into a frown and Nesta had a hand on her hip. She refused to let him slip down this slope of self-loathing. Not today. Not now. Not over this _ridiculous_ miscommunication of a situation.

“Are you finished throwing your tantrum?” she asked pointedly, not budging on her resolve, “Because now it’s my turn to talk. And explain to you how absolutely stupid this is.” Nesta ticked off her points on her fingers, “First. You yanked on our bond—I’m not a pet dog and I swear if you do that again I will make sure that there will never be any future Cassian’s flying about.  Second, I was _taking out his stitches._ Yes. He was shirtless because he was the idiot that let someone slash down his chest. That in itself is enough for me to roll my eyes. Third…” Her voice trailed off, dropping to a quiet whisper as she softened for the sake of his insecurities, “Third, Cas, look at me.” When she had his complete attention, Nesta continued in a gentleness that was reserved for him alone, “You would never let me be hurt. I believe that, Cas, even if you doubt yourself—I know in my heart you would never let that happen.”   
  
The moment of openness passed and she tacked on quickly, a sardonic smile in place, “Fourth, you don’t get to become some melodramatic bastard over the stupidity of this entire situation. Last time I checked, you are not Rhysand. He’s the one that puts on the show for everyone, isn’t he?” By this time, Nesta had walked across the room to stand in front of Cassian. Daring him to argue, she twitched her lips in a ghost of a smile before she added on, “Cassian… I cut off the King of Hybern’s head. I’m mated to you. And Amren was the one that trained me. I _think_ I can handle another overgrown bat.”   
  
Something in Cassian had eased—he had been grounded by the objectiveness in Nesta’s rebuttal. Though he had to admit she was right—it did not help the fact at how much testosterone was still coursing through his veins. His thumb tilted her face up towards his and he gave that boyish grin, “Melodramatic bastard, huh? Is this your new petname for me?”   
  
“It is when you come in here like this.” The words came out in the waves of a chuckle.  
  
Her laughter was music to his ears-- a soothing balm slathered over his wounded pride. And Gods… How was it possible that she became all the more beautiful when she laughed _?_ He watched her lips. Marveled at the perfect symmetry of that cupid’s bow; reminisced at the sweet taste of her mouth; recalled at how it felt to have her lips burn a trail down his abdomen, teasing with what was to follow. Try as he might, his mind could not be derailed from the path it was on. Nesta had a spell on him that he never wanted broke. And above all else, Cas was with a single thought: she was his mate.

“Cassian?” Nesta’s voice cut into his daydreams—she had asked him something, but the question had been missed in his lusting.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t hear you,” he offered weakly, a sheepish grin on his face as he shrugged at her eye roll.   
  
Nesta reached up to tug at a strand of his hair coyly as she repeated, “I said—are you going stop staring at my mouth and kiss me yet?” Her eyes dropped down his frame, eating up the vision of him in his leathers—she had remembered him mentioning that he was going to visit some problematic tribes later— “Or are you still hellbent on tracking down Kareem?”

His hands roamed down to her hips, pulling her in closer to him as he all but growled, “I don’t want to hear anyone’s name but mine on your lips right now.”

Cassian claimed her lips and Nesta gave herself over willingly. Without breaking the kiss, he guided her back towards the examination table. Effortlessly he lifted his mate up onto it. His hips slotted against hers while he teased Nesta’s lips with the swipe of his tongue. She made motion to deepen the kiss—but he pulled away with a fraternizing grin, laughing outright at her pout. He kissed at her neck and nipped mercilessly before muttering, “I need that door closed for what I plan to do to you, Nes.”

He had turned to go shut the door—but was stopped dead in his tracks when he felt her fingers brush against _that_ spot on his wings.   
  
Nesta purred, “Leave it open. No one’s coming. And… if they do?” Her grin was downright scandalous.  
  
Cassian was already turned around. His hands had started to bunch up the skirts of her dress, pushing them up to her hips and out of his way. The palm of his hand glided up her leg; starting at the ankle and traveling its way ever so slowly up her calf, knee, and inner thigh. Finger tips continued to itch their way up while he kissed a trail down Nesta’s neck. His thumb rubbed a teasing stroke against the lace that proved to be a flimsy barrier between him and what he wanted. Cassian abandoned his touch after peeling off her panties—knowing full well he was making Nesta squirm with the avoidance—and, instead, focused on slowly undressing her.  Carefully, he guided her to lay back on the bed—his body hovering over her while he worked.

From the first kiss, Nesta knew that she would be addicted to this fae. Her soul called to his on a level that very few could ever hope to understand. His lips an opiate that she could no longer live without. One taste. All it had taken was one taste for Nesta to become an addict. Even now, she craved his kiss when his mouth was apart from hers for only a second.   
  
She whimpered when he took so long to rid her of her dress, “You’re a demon.” The words held no bite to them as she grinned, watching him finally release her of the dress. 

Cassian rubbed his hands all over her torso, cupping roughly at the breasts that were still covered by the black lace. Smirking, he commented heatedly, “I like this.” He reached behind her to unclip the garment, pulling it away and letting it fall to the floor. From there, he buried his face between the two mounds; pressing a kiss while he continued to rub his hands up and down her rib cage. Nesta did her best to not give way to how she reveled in his ministrations.   
  
Her body betrayed her as she arched and rolled to follow the movements of his hand as her skin positively burned underneath his caresses. Blue eyes watched with heated interest while Cassian went ever lower down her body; his own tawny, muscled frame slipping further down the examination bed as he positioned himself for his task. When he looked to her, she now propped slightly up on her elbows for a better view, Nesta tilted her chin in approval for what would come next.  _Gods_  her mind screamed at the first swipe of tongue.   
  
“Cas, _Cas_ ,” His name was a prayer on her lips. The sweetest of pleas begging for merciful release as his talented tongue explored every inch of her. Playing, teasing, and seeking out the perfect spot that promised to drive her mad. Had his hands not been on her hips, the Fae would have been wriggling all over. It was a sensation unlike she had ever felt before-- and  _damn_  did it feel incredible. Her hips stuttered against his face; an apologetic whimper before she was swept up by the building crescendo of an orgasm. Still on her elbows, Nesta tilted her head back and unleashed a husky moan. Her eyes opened again when she felt the bed begin to move; watching in eagerness as he began to grind against the sheets.   
  
White-hot arousal sparked through Nesta while she watched him; mesmerized that he found so much pleasure in giving her his full attention. Her breathing became heavier and the female reached down to run her fingers through his hair while her legs began to tremble while her body basked in the glory of his mouth.   
  
Her whole world was the sound of crashing waves as she found release from his tongue alone. Unashamedly, she cried out.  _Loudly._  Again, his name the only thing that could come to mind while her body was hot with release. Hips bucked up into his mouth while she rode it out. Gasping, her lower body tremored occasionally in the aftermath of her orgasm.   
  
**“** Fucking hells,” Nesta breathed out, whimpering again when his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her thigh. Willingly, she laced her fingers with his and squeezed gently and smiled down at him. Nesta rubbed her muscled calf along his side while she purred, “I’ll beg on my knees for you to do that again.”  
  
Cassian moved back up her body, kissing over every inch that he could before finally finding home in her neck. He nipped lightly, his tongue an apologetic swipe. A grin touched his lips at her words, smearing against her skin, “Nesta Archeron, while I love the idea of you _begging—_ I can assure you, your pleasure is something you’ll never have to plead for. Not with me. Not now. Not ever.”

His promise tore her heart out. In that moment, Nesta made a silent vow to herself; for him, she would travel to hell and back and rob the Cauldron again should Cassian ever ask it. “I love you,” she said, unable to find any other way to express her gratitude in his promise. Feeling the press of him against her stomach, Nesta said, “Let me take care of you.”  
  
Nimble fingers grazed over the hem of his pants.  Cassian—impressive strength of both body and mind—held himself up above Nesta, captivated by her. A smile for his eyes only was shared while she deepened the kiss; tongue and teeth being utilized as the female pushed down the pants off his hips.   
  
His mind quickly left him, the second Nesta touched him. Cassian’s willpower took an immediate beating, lips parted on a broken Illyrian curse.  With her hand wrapped around his cock, he was helpless to what she wanted from him, what she was offering as much as she was taking; he whimpered for it, needing her to be closer as he moved her other hand to his chest. He nosed her face, silently begging for her lips to where the heat of his kiss awaited.   
  
When his willpower was strong enough again, Cassian basked in the glorious feel of Nesta’s hand on his length. Cassian let loose a growl and sucked on her bottom lip, sharing her breath. “You’re beautiful,” it was a whisper, sweet and surprising as he repeated it in the same Illyrian he’d used earlier.

 His lips slipped down her jaw, a sigh between. He meant it; meant it as he branded her skin with it in kisses. Close to his release, Cassian spoke, “Stop, please, stop—I want to be in you.”  He had started to get up from the bed, standing on the edge—cock aching to be buried deep within his mate.   
  
Their eyes were glazed with lust, driven by carnal desire. A devilish grin was on the male’s face as he had grabbed onto Nesta’s legs as he sat up—a sharp yank was given, meant to pull her down to the end of the bed where he waited.   
  
Cassian had grossly miscalculated the strength of his pull and had not factored in Nesta’s head lifting up.   
  
She had bobbed and he had weaved.  
Her nose connected with his head.  
Sex was not always pretty.  
It was definitely broken.  
A sickening crunch.  
A scream.  
Blood.

…

Oh, Cassian was fucked.   
  



End file.
